


Melded Mask

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, Humor, M/M, Parody, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-13
Updated: 2008-09-21
Packaged: 2018-09-30 19:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10170038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: The war isn't over, but Harry couldn't want it to be any more. In the meantime, he spends his time at St. Mungo's, helping those who get cought on the wrong end of a wand. His only goal was to find Voldemort and kill him until he finds a surprising patient and her guardian in the hospital. (Sorry, I totally suck at summaries.)





	1. One.

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

**A/N: Hey, all! Just wanted to take care of business before getting the ball rolling.**

**_DISCLAIMER: I don’t own any of these characters. Really. I wish I did, but the sad truth is that I just throw them together and hope something magical – no pun intended – comes of it. J.K. Rowling has all the rights to them._ **

Melded Mask  
Chapter One.

 

The first thing she felt was the stinging behind her eyes. Next came the aching of her joints and after that the painful lump in her throat. The last of the three was nothing new, but the other two feelings were pleasantly fresh. Being unfeeling for so long got so tiring. 

She lifted an arm heavily and draped it over her eyes before opening them. She knew the feeling was because of the light streaming in too gaily from the window. 

“Close the shades,” she managed to croak out around the lump. In a few seconds she heard light breathing and then the light dissipated. Her arm was lifted from her eyes and placed gently at her side. The room she was in was unfamiliar. Another pleasant notion. 

“Do you want to sit up?” the soft voice of her companion asked. She nodded numbly, still getting accustomed to the white walls and all-too-perfect bedding. He leaned over her briefly, changing a setting on the bed so it slowly sat itself up.

“Where am I?”

“St. Mungo’s.”

She looked at him for a second before leaning back in her (now uplifted) bed. “Hell.” Even behind her closed eyelids, she could see her companion smirk. He chuckled a little bit. 

“Very eloquent.”

 

~*~

Harry Potter grinned at the sight of his best friend, Ron Weasley, having his ice cream dumped on him by an angry girlfriend. After which came a constant stream of curses, which, in all actuality, only made his girlfriend angrier. He laughed openly at the two.

“Aww, c’mon, Harry! Help me out here!” Harry smiled and shook his head. 

“And get ragged on myself?” He glanced at his watch. “Anyways, I have to get over to the hospital. There’s a new patient rescued from one of the raids last night.”

Ron looked at his watch, staring dumbly at it for a few minutes before looking back at his friend. “You don’t start your shift for another hour, though.” Harry shrugged. 

“I can get her case if I get there early enough.” He stood and waved at the two who were now involved in a make-up conversation – which, he knew, would soon be followed by less talking and more making up – as he left the coffee shop. He knew he would most likely get the raid victim’s case at the hospital just because he was the only one who hadn’t totally messed a case up, but Harry really didn’t want to hang around Hogsmeade any longer. 

It had been about two years since he finally finished up school - mainly because Hermione wouldn’t let him skip out to find the Hocruxes – and ever since then Harry had pretty much devoted himself to helping out those hurt in the various battles that happened at least twice a week. (And that didn’t count happenstance attacks by the Death Eaters.) Between the hospital and continuing his search for the remaining Hocruxes, Harry had little spare time. 

No, that wasn’t true. He had spare time – he just chose to use it for work. He used to smile at himself when he caught himself overworking, thinking about what Professor Snape – no, just Snape – would say had he seen the amount of effort Harry put into his work. Hermione attributed it to lack of a love life – another awkward conversation he didn’t care to repeat, thank you – and Ron soon agreed. Harry had just rolled his eyes at the pair. 

Turning into an alley, Harry concentrated on his destination. St. Mungo’s in London and closed his eyes. Once he opened them again, he stood in a side alley right by the hospital. Shifting his pack, he moved out into the sidewalk traffic and then into the building without taking the notice of any particular person. 

He stepped into the locker room, moving quietly among the doctors and nurses in various states of undress until he found his locker. Number 17. He muttered the password and caught it before it flew into the man’s head beside him. So began a regular day in the life of Harry Potter. 

 

~*~

 

When Harry finally got a moment to stop by the nurse’s station about an hour later, his whole group of fellow workers were standing there. He stood at the back – attention still got to him – and leaned over the counter to watch Imogene Menes, a friend since day one, look at a patient’s chart.

“If you think staring at me fondly is going to get me to give you the raid victim’s chart, think again,” she said without looking up. He grinned at her. She looked up then and smiled in return, a light coming to life in the depths of her chocolate eyes. 

“What do I have to do to get the chart, Imogene?” he asked. She smirked slowly, and he rolled his eyes. “Anything but that.”

“I really don’t understand what is so bad about dancing to ‘Yellow Submarine’ on the counter. Really, Harry.” They laughed together before Harry saw his boss round the corner. He stood up straighter. He did that even though he finished school – he supposed it was a subconscious desire to not get detention for once in his life. (And, at the risk of appearing to be mental, Harry had had several stern talks with himself to say that detention wasn’t exactly a threat anymore.)

Before Dr. Mertz, his boss, even began speaking, one of the spells on a ward nearby went off. The hospital, because it didn’t have nearly the amount of people necessary to make sure every patient was fine all hours of the day, had implemented a charm on each room that would alert personnel if a patient was in need of medical assistance. The spell had different alarms that went off based on the need of the patient. Every time Harry heard the alarm, a sad smile came to his face – Hermione had thought and created the spell for St. Mungo’s, and a few days later was struck mute from a Death Eater attack. She couldn’t ever invent another spell on her own again. 

 

The alarm this time was non-emergency, but it wouldn’t shut off until a member of the staff turned it off. 

“Potter!” As was custom in the wizarding world, apparently, everyone turned to look at him even though they all knew he was there previously. Dr. Mertz gave him a brusque hand signal directing him in the way of the door and held out the patient’s chart. Harry fought not to look too disappointed. This meant that he wouldn’t be able to see the new patient. 

He scurried off anyways, mainly because his ears were starting to throb at the incessant screeching. With a glance at the chart just to make sure he was going to the right room, Harry saw that he didn’t recognize this name. He slowed slightly and looked more carefully at the name. No, the woman was definitely not on his patient list yesterday. 

The screeching stopped upon his entrance to the room, and as soon as Harry saw the occupants, so did he. 

 

Sitting on the bed next to the patient was none other than the figure of Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

_Bloody fucking hell._

 

 

**A/N: Please review! I love hearing back from people who have read my stuff, even if it’s hateful and incredulous.**


	2. Chapter Two

  
Author's notes: Chapter Two up! For two years Harry has been searching for a way to help those that he has allowed to be hurt by Voldemort. Now working at St. Mungo's, his path crosses with two people who will change his life forever.   


* * *

**A/N: Thanks to all of you who reviewed! It made me want to write this chapter extra-soon! Which kind of sucks, ‘cause I took a long time to get it done. If you want them out sooner, petition my professors to not give me so much damn work. (I’d appreciate it!)**

**I apologize for the length of the last chapter – it was way shorter than I wanted it to be. So, in response to that, this chapter, and hopefully the chapters to come, will be longer.**

**Disclaimer: Don’t own them. J.K. Rowling does.  
Chapter Warnings: There is some SS/HP action in this one! **

Melded Mask  
Chapter Two.

 

Bloody fucking Hell. That was all he could think. No one had seen Snape since the night Dumbledore died, and all of a sudden he shows up in St. Mungo’s? Harry could do nothing but stare incredulously at the man. 

Suddenly he was shaking with rage. He killed Dumbledore, and now he wants to reap the benefits of a normal, law-abiding citizen? Where the Hell did he get his ego? Harry was clutching the chart so tight, he felt the paper crumpling. His magic rose like a demon, roaring at the man who sat so arrogantly in his hospital. He felt it surge out, threatening to kill him with just a thought.

Then it came back to him like a wave to the shore. He almost stumbled back as another power pushed back at his. Harry was shaken out of the shock of his old professor and looked at the patient, who had just started sweating. Snape growled quietly and the woman – no, she couldn’t have been older than Harry – laughed a little. The power retracted. 

Harry looked at her more carefully. She was small, but he should know more than any that power didn’t necessarily come to those who had more room for it. Could she have pushed his magic back?

“As much as I appreciate the episodic power surge, may we attend to the matter at hand?” Snape drawled. Harry narrowed his eyes at the man, but stepped forward. He didn’t need to talk to Snape; it was the girl who was his concern. 

“What seems to be the problem, Miss” – he consulted the chart for her name – “Desidario?”

She looked at him momentarily before turning to Snape and saying something in a foreign language. Italian, possibly. Harry mentally groaned. Great, he would have to talk to the Death Eater to treat her. 

The older wizard nodded and turned his stony gaze to Harry. “She needs nourishment.” The last word he sneered. Harry had to clench his fists to keep from cursing the man. 

“Call down to the cafeteria.”

Snape rolled his eyes and in the blink of an eye had grabbed the chart from Harry’s hands. “As always, Mr. Potter, you seem to have neglected to read a detail.” He shoved the chart back into his hands, a long finger pointing to a line on the second page. 

_Species: Vampire._

He was speechless for a second, and looked at the girl. She was extremely pretty, even with the bandages over both cheeks and neck. Her hair was reddish-blonde and spread upon her pillow like a halo. Grey eyes shone with a smile as his eyebrows furrowed. Yes, she was pale enough, but usually Harry could pick up on different power sources. He and Remus had studied the power differences between species to prepare Harry for the final battle. Vampires were usually so easy to distinguish. 

At his lack of communication, the girl patted Snape’s arm and said something in Italian again. Snape sneered and replied in the same language, but (reluctantly, Harry noticed) faced the younger male. “She says that you aren’t the first to neglect her heritage.”

Harry threw the man a brief glare, which caused the girl to smile. She put a hand on her chest and spoke, “Demi.”

Snape looked at her incredulously. He said something in Italian, and Harry had enough. 

“Can we cut out the talking in Italian? I need to know everything she says word for word.” _Because I don’t trust your translation,_ he added mentally. He figured Snape got the hint. 

Demi – Harry just assumed it was her name – smiled again, and Harry could see the hint of elongated canines. 

“All right, I’ll find something to help with your thirst. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” As he walked to the door, he heard the pair talking in hushed tones. Without even checking in with Dr. Mertz, who he knew was in a room nearby, Harry walked back to the nurse’s station, where Imogene was writing on some charts. 

“Imogene, did you know the raid victim is a vampire?” She looked up at him with wide eyes. 

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” The nurse made an appreciative noise. “She said she’s hungry, so could you…?”

With a roll of her eyes the woman nodded. She called him back as he started to walk off. “Ms. Granger was here a few minutes ago, looking for you. I think she went down to the waiting area down the hall.”

Harry breathed a “thank you” and took off down the hall. In her new position at the Ministry as a Spellkeeper* and the co-head of the Department of Charms, Hexes, Curses, and Other Such Magical Spells, Hermione barely ever got time to visit Harry during office hours, and every time put a smile to Harry’s face. Besides, he needed to tell her about Snape. 

As he rounded the corner to the waiting area, Harry’s eyes immediately found Hermione. She was, in true Hermione fashion, reading a way-too-heavy book that she had no doubt carried in her purse. Because she couldn’t talk, Hermione had spelled a Quick-Quotes quill to her thoughts, and whenever she wanted to say something, the quill would write it down for her. It was much easier than the ill-fated and short-lived attempt at sign language.

Harry smiled brightly and plopped down next to her. She didn’t look up, but a smile graced her features. “What are you doing around my neck of the woods?”   
The quill jumped to life. “I wanted to see how you were doing. You’ve been working a lot lately, Harry.” Even though it was just writing in a small notebook, Harry could hear the chastisement. Or, rather, could see it. 

“I know, but there have been some really bad cases here. I needed to help out.”

She patted his arm as her quill scribbled again. “You deserve to have your own life, you know.” He rolled his eyes but nodded. He had learned that smiling and nodding kept Hermione happy intermittently. 

“Do you think Ron will be free tonight? I have something big to tell you two,” Harry said, now leaning in and lowering his voice. Hermione looked up now, excitement apparent on her face. 

“I’ll call on him,” she wrote. She closed up her book, shrunk it, and put it in her purse. They leaned in for a brief hug and a friendly kiss, and then she stood. Harry walked her to the end of the hall before saying goodbye. 

“Let me know what our plans are tonight. I get off at eight,” he told her. She smiled and nodded. 

 

~~*~~

At promptly seven fifty-nine p.m. Hermione’s barn owl, Ariadne, flew into the hospital and found Harry in a conference room. He was updating some charts when Ariadne pecked him with her beak. 

“Hey, girl,” he greeted, stroking her tan and black feathers. She hooted softly and stuck out her leg with parchment attached. He untied it and poured her some water before unrolling it. 

_Harry –_  
If it’s all right with your schedule, Ronald and I agreed on 9 o’clock at my house for a meeting. (Loathe as he was to agree, since apparently he would miss a date with girl number – what, 35? – but we concur that friendship is more important than Ronald’s shallow flings. See you then,  
Hermione 

As was common with their notes, Harry suspected Hermione had sent the note to Ron just to let him know what the plan was, and no doubt Ron had attached his own two cents. Sure enough, the back of the parchment bore Ron’s untidy scrawl.

_Hey, mate!_  
Don’t listen to Hermione about the shallow flings; she’s just jealous because she works all the time. And, thanks very much, Julia and I have been going a while now. (Shut up, Herm.) I’ll be there at nine and I’ll bring the good stuff!  
Ron 

Harry laughed at the pair and their bickering, which had only been put on pause when they had tried dating right after NEWTS. The whole situation, according to them, was just awkward, because it was easier to be three than it was to be two. So, the friendly catfights had started again, and the three soon fell into the same camaraderie they had shared in the early years at Hogwarts. 

With a glance at his watch, he opened the window for Ariadne and closed it after her. If they were meeting at nine, he had enough time to get back to his flat in Diagon Alley and have a quick shower. He Apparated quickly, right outside of the Leaky Cauldron. He liked stopping in and saying hello to Tom on occasion, just out of habit. He waved at the older man before walking out into Diagon Alley. 

His flat wasn’t on the Alley, per se, but down an alley near the end. It was nice enough, especially since no one really knew about it – that kept the prices down even though muggles in London would be paying an arm and a leg for a loft flat like his. When he had first bought the place he had been scared to walk down the alley at night, but soon discovered that no one really wanted to mess with the Boy-Who-Lived, even more so when Fudge was ostracized for his ignorance of Voldemort’s return. 

He took the stairs up to his top-floor flat. Hermione, Ron, and he had decorated only last November, and the only reason it was done was because the Weasley’s had insisted on Christmas at Harry’s place. It wasn’t anything too garish, mostly done in browns with color accents. (Hermione had taken the lead on color coordination; Harry and Ron just did what she said.)

After a long shower – in Harry’s mind – he got dressed in something comfortable. He didn’t really think he needed to dress up for dinner with his mates, so he just threw on jeans and a t-shirt, not bothering to charm his hair dry. It was around 8:40, so he figured he had time to Floo Remus. If anyone knew about Snape, Remus would. The man seemed to know everything. He threw some powder into the fireplace and stuck his head in after. 

“Remus?” he called out into the kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. The room was much as Sirius had left it – Harry couldn’t bear to live there from the memories, so the Order just used it (with Harry’s permission) as headquarters. Remus was pretty much there 24/7, just so there was always some way to get in touch with base. 

“Harry?” A few seconds later Remus came into view, looking haggard as ever. His eyes, however, lit up as he recognized Harry’s face in the flames. “Harry, my boy! How are you?”

“I’m fine, Remus. How’ve you been doing?”

The older man shrugged, saying, “Just preparing for the new moon. What can I do for you?”

“Have you been in contact with Snape?” Remus looked shocked at the question, but immediately furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Why do you ask?”

“I saw him at the hospital today, and I wanted to know if he is still in the Order.” He said this in a no-bullshit tone of voice, not wanting Remus to hide the truth from him. “If he’s in the Order, you’ve been in contact with him.”

Remus looked away for a minute, before looking back at Harry. “He has been working for the Order, but not as a spy. He made the Dark Lord believe he was dead so he could get out of spy work.” Harry looked at the man before nodding. 

“Thanks, Remus. I have to get going, but I’ll see you tomorrow at the meeting.” Remus smiled tightly and nodded. 

“It was good seeing you, Harry.”

“You too. Bye.” He pulled his head out of the fireplace. So it really was Snape. Everyone thought he had died last year in one of the major Death Eater attacks. Apparently not. 

Harry looked at the clock. 8:58. Hell. He hadn’t really wanted to Floo to Hermione’s, but he had no choice. He threw some powder into the fireplace, and shouted, “Thrushcross Grange!” A second later he was flying through the Floo system.

Hermione lived out in the country, and had chosen the name Thrushcross Grange from one of her favorite muggle works, Wuthering Heights. She had warded the Hell out of her property, just to make sure that only approved persons could enter, and to make sure she would know about it. Harry could work through the anti-Apparation ward, but it took a good five minutes, and he did want to be on time. 

He stumbled out of the fireplace, trying to keep the ashes flying out to a minimum. Ron and Hermione were already comfortable in the sitting room, and watched amusedly as he sputtered and coughed the debris out of his lungs. 

Once he had regained his composure, Ron clapped him on the back and Hermione hugged him tightly. 

“Thanks for the help, guys,” he muttered darkly, and both of them grinned. 

Hermione summoned dinner from the kitchen, and all three settled down on the floor with their plates on the coffee table. 

“So what’s the big emergency, Harry?” Ron asked while shoveling his mouth full of food. Harry caught Hermione rolling her eyes and he smiled. 

“I’ll wait until you swallow, because I know you’ll choke.” That caused both of them to put down their forks, and Ron swallowed all the contents of his mouth in a big gulp. “So I told you about that new patient that was rescued from the raid the other night, right?” Two nods. “Well, I got her case today.” Pause for congratulations. “And she had a guardian with her. You’ll never guess who it was.”

Ron leaned in, and Hermione gave him her calculating look. Her quill wrote something on the paper, but she refused to show before Harry spoke. 

“It was Snape.”

Ron jumped up, completely incredulous. “WHAT?!” Hermione looked on as he raved and slipped Harry her notebook. Sure enough, she had written, “Professor Snape,” on the paper. Not bothering to wonder how she knew – sometimes it was just better left a mystery – Harry laughed at Ron’s now purple face.   
“How dare that git come back!” Ron yelled. Hermione shook her head at him, tacitly telling him to sit back down. “What, Hermione? He just kills Dumbledore, disappears, shows up, and fakes his own death just to come back? That’s bloody mental!”

Hermione just rolled her eyes. 

“Remus said he’s still helping the Order,” Harry offered. “He told me today that Snape made Voldemort believe he was dead so that he could stop being a spy.”

Ron paid no heed, instead muttering about Snape in undertones as he shoved more food into his mouth. Everyone knew about the plan between Dumbledore and Snape to have Snape kill him if necessary, but some were still convinced that it was all a hoax to smooth over a major conspiracy. Ron was one of those people, not that he would ever admit it. 

“What are you going to do about it?” Hermione wanted to know. Harry shrugged, giving her a helpless shrug. 

“What can I do? I have to help the girl, even if he is a right bastard.”

~~*~~

The next morning, Harry woke up to a blaring alarm. 4:30 a.m. He had the morning shift at the hospital. He got through the shower by his autopilot, and was somewhat awake by the time he got dressed and had his teeth brushed. When he got to the hospital – he walked this time – he was just barely fully awake. 

“Potter!” Dr. Mertz yelled through the locker room. Harry looked up, waving his arm to make sure the older man saw him. “I need you to do a final checkup on the girl in 254.” Immediately his mind thought to who was in that room. _Demi._

“Sir? She’s leaving today?”

The man shrugged. “Vampires heal quickly.” He turned, leaving the chart in Harry’s hands. “And I’d hurry up; her guardian is impatient.” Harry nodded. 

_Tell me about it._

Within five minutes, he was stepping into Demi’s room. A girl with long white-blonde hair sat on the edge of the bed, a comb in her hand. She smiled at him. 

“Sorry, I must have the wrong room,” he said, looking back at the chart, and then to the number on the inside of the door. 254. 

The girl smiled. “You are in the correct room, Mr. Potter,” a drawl came from behind him. He jumped, swirling around to face Snape. He hadn’t even heard the man come up.

“But she had different hair yesterday!” The girl – he refused to think she was Demi – laughed. 

“It was a glamour charm,” she said. The voice was the same, but Demi could only speak Italian, right? “Severus holds one over me so I’m not recognized, and he took it off this morning when he left.”

That would explain why her power didn’t show up on Harry’s radar yesterday. Now that he thought about it, he could definitely get the vampire vibe from her. Vampires wore their power like a robe – encasing themselves in it and attracting attention – but wizards held their magic on the inside so it was harder to detect. 

“You speak English?” 

She nodded. “Except for yesterday, when I couldn’t seem to remember how to translate from Italian back into English.” 

He shook his head. “All right.” It was weird, but weird things had been happening to Harry all of his life. He had just learned to accept it. “At least your bruises are gone,” he said as he approached her. Snape moved around to sit in the chair on the other side of the bed. As he passed, Demi gave him an odd look, looking between him and Harry. 

Snape said something in Italian, but instead of smiling, Demi rolled her eyes and glared at him mildly. 

“How are you feeling?” Harry asked, trying to ignore the look the girl was giving him. 

She shrugged. “As well as I can for having been imprisoned for a few months. I am excited to get out of this hospital, though.” She smiled up at him. 

After a few tests, Harry declared her ready to go home. She jumped up and hugged him tightly. Only when Snape grunted behind her did she let go with a laugh. 

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” she offered.

“Harry, please. I would say I hope to see you again, but I don’t want you in the hospital anymore,” he replied. She giggled. 

“I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.” He said goodbye to her and exited the room, all the while feeling the weight of an unblinking stare at his back. 

~~*~~

All day, Harry felt that stare itching his back without recession. Every time he had a moment to pause, he felt it, right between his shoulder blades. So, when one of his co-workers asked if he wanted to go get a drink, Harry agreed without reluctance. 

He didn’t think he had all that much, only staying an hour and a half in the Leaky Cauldron before he said he had to go. As he was walking down the street, in only a slight haze, Harry was suddenly struck by the realization that he was alone. There was literally no one on the road with him. It was only 10 o’ clock. 

As he turned down the alley to his flat, Harry felt the itch. Right between his shoulder blades. He turned around fast, but all he saw was black. 

The only thing Harry registered were the obsidian eyes glinted with red. Next thing he knew he was slammed up against a wall, being held by an immovable force. _Now I know what it feels like to be caught between a rock and a hard place,_ he thought sardonically. And the body that held him in place was unmistakably hard. As Harry moved his arms to his captor’s elbows – trying to gain some leverage – he felt that the skin felt like granite. Smooth, but almost impenetrable. 

He felt heavy all of a sudden. Not because of the weight of the other on him, but he himself felt like he couldn’t move a muscle. And, even if he could, Harry didn’t think he even wanted to. Harry groaned involuntarily as the person lowered a hot mouth to his neck. It moved over the base and up the column to his jaw, and then back until it settled over his pulse. As that mouth left his neck, only for a second, he felt his blood thicken and nearly jump out of his veins after it. He groaned again, and this time was met with a deep, resounding chuckle that made his knees weak. Strong arms encircled him and held him up.

Only a moment passed before Harry felt the sharp sting of something tearing his skin. White-hot pain was replaced by incredible pleasure that arose from the pit of his belly to his fingertips and down to his toes. His own arms reached up and wrapped around slender shoulders and he buried his fingers in long, smooth, and slightly damp locks. 

Green eyes looked up at the sky as his pleasure threatened to overcome him. Rain fell softly down. He felt like a whore, pressed against a wall by a dark stranger all the while moaning, but Harry couldn’t stop. There was no way he could have stifled himself. 

After what seemed a lifetime, Harry finally felt himself being pushed over the edge. His fingers tightened their hold on the person’s head as he tried to force that mouth to bring him into Earth-shattering bliss. With another chuckle – this one sending sensations all the way down to his fully-awakened prick – his captor separated his mouth from Harry’s neck, briefly swirling his tongue over his pulse. 

“No,” Harry said, grabbing onto the robes that were somehow still within reach. In the dim light of the moonlight, he could see the obviously masculine frame of his captor, and the bright obsidian eyes looking at him with some unknown emotion. The man broke his grasp without even a struggle – and Harry was no weakling – and started to walk away. “Wait, please.” That dirty feeling returned, and Harry mentally kicked himself for being this way. But he was teetering on the brink of ecstasy, and he’d be damned if he would have to take care of it himself. The man caused this problem; he could stay until it was finished. 

Once again he was forced into the wall, but only out of shock. It hadn’t taken the man, who was at the end of the alleyway before he blinked, to be right up against him again. He felt the heat of the man’s breath on his face. His mouth was captured and those boulder-strength arms wove themselves around him again. Harry felt lost in this wanton embrace, but so at home. As if it was his place and his alone. 

But, his rational side chimed in, that could be the orgasm speaking. 

Hands moved down his side, butterfly-light at first and then rougher as they reached his hips. Once the man pressed himself into Harry, hip to hip, chest to chest, he bucked against him, loving the feeling of this man’s heat against his groin. He heard a soft groan from his companion, and Harry sucked it into his mouth greedily. He tasted of mint, cinnamon, and caramel with a metallic undertone. Something hot and molten. 

The man muttered something under his breath, unhooking their mouths before tucking Harry into his arms. Harry didn’t even feel the jolt in his stomach that Apparation had on him, but the next thing he knew they were in a cold room.

He fell back onto something soft – he imagined it was a sofa – but couldn’t comprehend his surroundings before the man’s hot mouth descended on his again. His sex throbbed with need, and he arched up into the man’s hand as it passed over his groin. A knee was pressed into the seat between his legs, the other man leaning over him.

“Gods,” he breathed as he was taken out of his trousers and pants. A warm hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking softly. Teasing. “More. Gods, more!”

That deep thunder of the man’s chuckle rumbled, and Harry was glad he was on the sofa. He would have surely fallen if he hadn’t been. 

In the blink of an eye, Harry’s trousers were pulled off, and the man’s outer robes were discarded on the floor next to each other. Their mouths attached again as the stroking became more fervent. Harry’s hand travelled down to the man’s hips, tugging them forward. He brushed his hand over the man’s zipper, pulling it down over the prominence that was there. He pulled out the swelled organ, and, through hazy eyesight, pulled it into his mouth without hesitation. A sharp intake of breath sounded above him, and the hand surrounding his prick let go. 

Never having done this before, Harry let instincts take over him as he swirled his tongue over the head and then over the rest of the organ piece by piece. He could feel it get longer in his mouth, felt it tempt the back of his throat. He managed to suppress another whorish moan. 

A few more seconds of his mouth, and the man pulled out, yanking down Harry’s pants in the process. He lifted Harry’s legs, again taking possession of his mouth while his long fingers teased his entrance. Instinctually, Harry pressed against them, nearly yelling into the man’s mouth as one was pressed into him. He had to detach himself from his mouth when another digit was added. The man muttered something under his breath, and the two fingers were coated in an oil-like substance. He pulled them out briefly before pressing in something much larger.

Once it was in, Harry found one of the man’s arms – on his hip so he didn’t buck up – and grasped it tightly. He felt the pleasure boil under his skin, threatening to shatter him into a million pieces. He whined at the man’s restraint of his hips. He wanted to meet the now urgent thrusts with his own, but the arm was immovable. He felt himself tighten as he was pulled over the edge, and could swear his nails bit into and drew blood from the man’s arm as he came with a yell. 

Once he had reached the zenith of his orgasm, Harry briefly felt the man finish and collapse on the sofa next to him before all he saw was black. 

~~*~~

Severus awoke to a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long while. A warm body next to him. Not only warm, but hot. Pumping with blood. He groaned softly as the thirst awoke at this thought. He sent it to the back of his mind and stood. His outer robe was discarded on the floor in front of an unlighted fireplace, next to a pair of trousers. A little ways away laid a rather destroyed pair of pants. 

He cursed briefly as memories from not even an hour ago flooded back into his mind. The power of the thirst, the circean scent in the air, and impossibly green eyes flooded with bliss. He put a hand to the bridge of his nose, pinching the nerve there until the memories calmed down. 

With a mutter, he pointed his wand at the fireplace and flames erupted, inundating the room with the warm light. After smoothing down his own clothes, he took a deep breath and turned his gaze to the sofa. 

Just as he thought. Harry Potter slept peacefully, his knees tucked into his chest and a peaceful look on his face. His lips were bruised, but not badly so. A glance at his hips saw much of the same. With a sigh, Severus ran a hand through his hair and summoned a bruise-healing potion. It hovered in the air next to him as he rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. He knelt down on the floor, turning the figure on the couch so he had better access to the bruises. Once the salve was applied, he draped a blanket over the half-naked figure. 

Severus Snape, for once in his wretchedly long life, stood not knowing what to do. He supposed he needed to go tell Demitrya to warn the others of a human presence; however, he found himself not wanting to leave the room. If the boy woke up he would surely be confused. Settling for a compromise, Severus scribbled a note on a piece of parchment and left it hovering next to the couch. 

As he left to room, not bothering to don his robes, Severus left his apartments as quietly as he could, which, in all actuality, was not all that difficult. He had been able to have so much practice at being quiet, it became his second nature.

Ignoring the passersby’s, Severus walked briskly to Demitrya’s apartments. He knocked twice – their signal for each other – and entered without waiting for her response. She had decorated more lavishly than he; her walls were painted a deep Slytherin green (though she had no idea of the color’s implications when she picked it out), and a large black and white rug lie on the stone floor. Her bed was large, but perfect for the room, with a plush white down comforter and black and white pillows. She was sitting in an armchair – a lighter green than the walls – and reading a book. 

Without moving an inch, she greeted, “Good evening, Severus. What can I do for you?”

“There is a human in my flat, and I would appreciate if you would inform the rest of the residency that he is not to become a source of nutrition.” That being all he wanted to say, Severus nodded and turned on his hell. 

“Severus, stop.” He cursed silently, but did as told. “Come back here and sit with me.” It was said in camaraderie, but the Potions Master recognized Demitrya’s serious tone when he heard it. He sat in the matching armchair, crossing his legs and arms. She put her book down. “Who is he?”

He raised an eyebrow at her in response. 

She smiled. “I thought I smelled the pheromones between you two.” Severus growled, standing up quickly. 

“I can assure you I do not know what you are talking about, and I guarantee it will not happen again.” He gave a curt nod to the blonde. “Good evening.”

As he reached the door, he swore he heard her laugh and say, “We shall see, my friend.”

~~*~~

Harry felt the blanket slide off of him before he woke up. He groaned as the cold air of the room hit his bare legs and blindly searched for the blanket. Unfortunately he reached too far and ended up falling off of the soft cushions of the sofa. He grunted as he found the blanket underneath of him. 

“Perhaps you should open your eyes before searching for something unfamiliar,” a familiar voice drawled from somewhere above him. Turning his head to the side, he cracked open one eye and looked at the man who had spoken. Snape. 

_Shit._

He intended to say, “What are you doing here?” but it came out as, “Wha durng mur?” 

The older wizard raised an eyebrow. “Might I suggest opening your mouth before speaking, Mr. Potter?”

He threw a mild glare at the man before he realized that he wasn’t wearing any pants. “Hell,” he muttered, turning more fully on his stomach. He didn’t care so much about Snape seeing his backside as he did the front. “Clothes?” he managed to get out comprehensibly. 

“On the table above you.” The younger turned his head so his other cheek rested on the floor, and looked up above him. Through the glass of the table, he could see his trousers and pants folded in a neat pile. He groaned, but got up, and then something popped into his head. 

_Did I sleep with Snape?_

He jumped up, taking with him the blanket, which he made sure covered his manly parts. Not that it matters now, that damnably chipper voice in his mind quipped. Snape raised his eyebrow in what seemed to be amusement at his modesty, and leaned a hip against the stone of the fireplace. 

“What the fuck happened?” Harry demanded. Snape looked at him briefly before looking into the fireplace, where a fire was dying down. When he didn’t answer, Harry let his magic flare up. Just to give the man a warning not mess with him. 

If the older wizard felt anything, he didn’t show it. He just kept looking into the fireplace with a solemn expression. 

The door to the large room – Harry guessed it was a series of rooms by all of the doors – opened, and in came Demi, smiling quite ecstatically. 

“Good morning, Harry. So nice to see you,” she greeted, taking no notice of his blanket or lack of clothes. He gave her a tight smile, and returned to glaring at Snape. The blonde put a hand on his arm, smiling still. “Would you excuse us for a second? I need to discuss something with Severus.” He nodded curtly in her direction. 

“The facilities are through the first closed door on your left, Mr. Potter.” He gave the man another glare before grabbing his clothes and stalking off to the aforementioned room. 

He was taken aback when he actually registered the bathroom. He had expected nothing too big, with dark walls and maybe a towel on the rack. Oh, no. This bathroom was huge – probably as big, if not bigger, than the third floor girls’ lavatory in Hogwarts. The walls were a dark blue and everything else was white marble. The rugs on the floor – yes, _rugs_ – were white as well, and the towels on the two racks were light blue. 

Harry immediately looked back at the door as if he could see Snape. Did he seriously decorate? Harry just couldn’t image Snape standing in the room deciding between royal blue and cerulean. He shook his head to rid himself of the mental picture and turned on the shower. He had considered taking a bath – the tub was as big as the prefects’ bathtub – but decided against it. He wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. 

After his shower, he cast a quick drying charm and hurried through dressing. As he was walking out of the door, he cast a glance in the mirror and had to do a double take. On his neck were two small red puncture wounds. He put both hands on the sink and leaned in. 

“What the Hell?”

“Looks like you’ve been bitten by a snake,” a voice said behind him. He jumped about a foot off the ground and spun around. Demi stood grinning at him. “Hope someone sucked the poison out in time.” Remembering a flash of what happened last night – namely being held against a wall while someone sucked on his neck – Harry had the decency to flush. 

Demi laughed and hooked her arm in his, pulling him swiftly out of the bathroom. Snape sat on the couch with his legs crossed, a book in his lap and glasses resting on his nose. Harry tried to dig his heels in, but it was no use. The vampires took no heed and simply made him sit on the couch. 

“Are you going to be staying with us, Harry?” He turned his body solely to the female, making sure he couldn’t see Snape even through his peripherals. He heard the man mutter something that sounded like, “Maturity is apparently a strong suit of yours.”

“I have to get back, sorry.” She smiled again, and Harry vaguely wondered if there was anything but a smile on her face. 

“That’s fine. Severus will escort you out.” Both men made a sound of protest at that, but the blonde had already bounded out of the apartment. The Potions Master was glaring after her, his knuckles white from clutching the heavy tome. Harry could swear he was muttering in Italian, and none of it sounded all that friendly. 

“I’ll find my way out,” Harry stated, getting up and moving towards the exit. All too fast his former professor was at the door, holding it open impatiently, a scowl on his face. 

“I insist.”

They walked wordlessly from the man’s rooms, through halls that looked vaguely like a castle, although the walls were painted and not stone. Pictures were gung here and there, mostly of pale people who looked dead. _What kind of paintings are these?_ Harry asked himself while staring curiously at one.

“They will not move no matter the amount of time you spend staring, Potter,” Snape murmured. Harry huffed at the man. 

“What kind of place is this?”

“A vampire coven.” The answer was even, as if it were as common as a toad. Snape gestured to one of the portraits. “These paintings are of various vampires, and therefore will not awaken by a mere optic fascination.” He looked at his younger companion with boredom. “If you are finished, may we proceed?”

Harry nodded wordlessly. What the Hell was Snape’s problem? He had just asked a simple question. It’s not like he had begged to come here last night. He must have been drunk. Maybe he had more Firewhisky at the bar than he had thought. 

They got to the entrance hall quickly, both walking at Snape’s quick, long-strided pace. If he had been wearing his teaching robes, Harry suspected they would have been at full-billow. He received a curt nod from the older man, those dark eyes watching him almost ceremoniously. 

“Good day, Potter.”

Harry snorted, but replied, “You too, Professor.”

 

**A/N: Ta-da! Hopefully that was satisfactory. It was a ton longer, and I hope that I can keep this length up. Poll question though: shorter, more frequent chapters, or longer chapters that take a little more time?**

**I’ll explain the whole seemingly random sex in the next chapter, I promise. Review!  
**


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